


Idiots Maximus

by Lousy



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Canon-Typical Gore, During Canon, Ficlet Collection, Gen, What's better than this? Guys being dumb, ZADE, episodic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28958424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lousy/pseuds/Lousy
Summary: An ongoing collection of ficlets united only by staggering levels of idiocy. From Zim and Dib, that is.“The pointy-haired and the grouchy kids’ arrival every Friday was clockwork; fresh out of class they’d walk to the convenience store, ritualistically select and purchase snacks with their dad’s money, and presumably walk home to eat them. That’s why she’d been so surprised when one walked in ten minutes ago.Well, one reason.”
Relationships: Dib & Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. New Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zim was certain Dib hadn’t been wearing this particular getup when he was dozing at his desk— he would’ve at least noticed the miniature grappling hook strapped to his wrist.

Zim slouched against a wall of lockers, poking at his tablet. The hall was dank and silent save for the sound of a moth beating itself against an overhead fluorescent light’s plastic cover. They were supposed to be learning about Urth history in class today— not even the wars, those were at least funny— but he’d managed to escape by walking out the door. Yes, he opened another picture of the pig-shaped couch he was bidding on, this was a much better use of his time.

_CLANG_

He slouched a little straighter as his antennae quivered beneath his wig. Something had impacted the lockers somewhere else in the skool, not in his hallway but close enough to feel it through the wall. Was he about to be detained and dragged back to class? He tightened a fist at his side. He would fight to the last convulsion of his ‘spooch before allowing such torture.

“Zim!”

The tablet clattered to the floor.

“I knew I’d find you out here, loitering. Whatever you’re doing, give it up!”

Zim squinted at the figure. Then belatedly leapt back.

“The Dib!” His laugh was barking. “I laugh at your pitiful attempt to disguise yourself; I have been trained to identify methods of deception a _squadrillion_ times more sophisticated than your pitiful attempt.”

At the end of the hall, Dib drew himself up. “This isn’t a disguise you idiot, what you’re looking at is the latest in paranormal investigating gear. It’s designed to help people like me take down planetary threats like you, so get ready to lose.” He stalked forward.

Zim was certain Dib hadn’t been wearing this particular getup when he’d last been dozing at his desk— he would’ve at least noticed the miniature grappling hook strapped to his wrist. Had he changed before going to look for him? “A foolish goal. You’ll never—”

_CLANG_

Dib stumbled back from the open locker he’d run into, rubbing his head above where dark goggles replaced his glasses. “Aaaah,” he hissed, “it’s a little… a little hard to see out of these things but once we’re outside you’d better watch out! I’ll be able to see every blade of grass and every drop of alien blood on the sidewalk _and_ I won’t have to worry about getting my third in-skool-assault charge. I’m saving that one for when you’re being _real_ annoying.”

“Eh? But won’t a third charge sentence you to the underground classrooms?”

Dib paused in rubbing his head. “No, see, I thought that too but the documentation on the skool’s website is out of date. The real ones have the number adjusted to four ‘cuz of the rise in child-on-child violence. You have to look on the district website for it though, not the skool’s.”

“Well, that’s nice!”

“I know, right?” Dib flung his arms out. “And did you know you can contest existing charges? I’m gonna have my dad get rid of the one from when we were reading _Charlotte’s Web_ , I think we have a good case since dumping educational spiders on an alien isn’t specifically defined as assault not to mention I was completely justified.”

Zim nodded sagely.

“Anyway.”

The two leapt into fighting positions. What a familiar scene— two mortal enemies poised for epic combat with the stakes of a planet, one the greatest invader in Irken history, the other Urth’s most stalwart defender and heir to a scientific fortune. The flickering light reflected off Dib’s new equipment to make it look as if his ensemble were bursting with power ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice. Zim hadn’t been expecting them. They could add a dimension of danger to the battle, so he needed to learn their capabilities quickly and be ready to dispose of them at a moment’s notice.

Above, the moth slowed its frenzied self-flagellation as if holding its breath for the first strike.

Zim had prepared a devastating and tactically disarming jab on the size of Dib’s head when a classroom door slammed open between them, cracking the locker behind it on impact.

“I knew all that screaming was you two,” Gaz growled. Dib went stiff. “Just stand closer to each other and you won’t have to shout— ever thought of that?”

Zim struggled to get a word out. Something about that girl made everything sound like a threat she’d be delighted to follow through on. 

A deafening squeak of Dib’s boots brought the entire weight of Gaz’s stare down upon him to crush his escape.

“What are you wearing? Wait,” as she squinted, Dib tucked his “gamma-grabbin’” gloves behind his back and tried to hide his extensively buckled boots behind themselves, accidentally deploying a toe knife into the linoleum. “Is that the new _Mysterious Mysteries_ host’s outfit? I thought you said he was “a cheap replacement who’s trying too hard.” Change your mind?” she sneered.

“What? Me?” Making it look like he was trying to wipe his nose into his forehead, Dib pushed his tinted “truth goggles” off his head and onto the ground. “That’s nuts, that guy is a— a joke and a fraud and a—”

“Whatever. You can play dress-up like a little girl, just don’t sit next to me at lunch or walk with me or give anyone the idea we’re related. I’m gonna go take a dump.”

Zim and Dib still frozen, she shuffled down the hall with her face in her GameSlave. She spared a glance at Zim’s discarded tablet as she passed.

“Stop bidding on that thing, it’s mine.”

Zim swallowed thickly.

When she disappeared, the two gave it another few seconds before releasing their collective breath. Zim turned to a red-faced Dib, smirking. “So, playing dress—”

“I changed my mind about saving my in-skool-assault charge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have any grand plans for this, I just really enjoy writing their dynamic from the show (i.e. arguing). Thanks for reading!


	2. Like a Bug in a Heated Scarf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Heated scarves don’t exist. Well, they did, but they all got recalled. There are videos of the neck fires all over, everyone knows that.” Dib scrubbed at one of the lenses of his glasses with a gloved thumb. “Where’d you say you got that again?”

“The Dib! I command you to observe my human cold-wear— observe it!”

Dib glowered from behind fogged glasses, burrowing into his puffer as wind ripped through the jungle gym to produce a haunting tune. Unlike usual, there were no children to be knocked off like fruit at the end of the growing season as they either trudged in circles to keep their blood from congealing or huddled under icicle-laden trees where they were somewhat protected from the elements. Zim and Dib had been ousted from both groups, left to stand in the middle of the playground in their own patches of gray slush.

“Whatever. You’re still way under-dressed, you haven’t proved anything.”

“Ah ha, but I have proved everything! You see I have obtained a _heated_ scrap—”

“Scarf.”

“— scarf with which to wrap one-to-three times around my neck. I have no need for your jackets or hats.”

Dib scowled. Even from five feet away and looking through a wall of frosted glass, heat lines were visible radiating from Zim’s PAK. “Heated scarves don’t exist. Well, they did, but they all got recalled. There are videos of the neck fires all over, everyone knows that.” Dib scrubbed at one of the lenses of his glasses with a gloved thumb. “Where’d you say you got that again?”

Zim puffed his chest. “Willy.”

“Like, he gave it to you or,” Dib stared hard at the gray thing wrapped around Zim’s neck.

“What? Zim asks favors of no one— no one! I take what I need by force and because Willy was the weakest member of our Urth children ranks I utilized his resources to better serve _me_ your Urth child leader!”

“You—”

“Imbecile!”

“Hold on a minute,” Dib looked around so quickly his cowlick popped the beanie off his head. “What’d you do to Willy?” he said, panic edging into his voice.

“I just told you,” Zim said, a sour look on his face. “I participated in your Urthen temperature-based culling wherein the weakest member is disposed of so their parts can be utilized for the betterment of the group. GIR spent a whole afternoon gathering information on your so-called ‘winter,’ so don’t even think about playing the same tricks as yesterday. It won’t work!”

Dib’s glasses were again clouded but based on the position of his jaw Zim knew exactly the dumb expression on his face. “Like— like, are you talking about what Ms. Bitters said hikers do when they get lost in the mountains? How is that anything like being cold at recess?” Dib’s shoulders went slack for a moment, then he jerked straight. “You _ate_ Willy?”

“Heh? No, I—”

“Then you cut him open and crawled inside! I bet you laid— argh, hold on,” Dib furiously scrubbed the film off his glasses. He settled them back on his nose. “You laid eggs in him didn’t you, you alien freak. Where’s the body, huh? Or did it liquefy and you’re standing in it right now? Answer me!”

Zim scrunched his face up, sticking out his tongue. “Zim would never submerge himself in such a smelly being, you disgust me with the very idea.” At a nearby rattling cough, Zim turned and brightened. “There, see? The Willy is still un-lived in and capable of harvesting for usefulness. All is well.”

Sure enough, Willy ambled by, uneaten and lacking the signature bulging abdomen of a human hosting alien ova.

“Well… okay, but you still haven’t told me how you got that.”

“I removed one of his longer organs for use as a, eh—”

“Scarf,” Dib supplied automatically.

“Right, yes, that. It’s almost out of heat though, I require another soon.” Zim eyed Willy’s progress hungrily.

Dib sighed. He started to move to stop Zim from harvesting any more of his classmate’s organs, but in the half step he took, razor wind stole every ounce of heat stored between glued thighs and left behind a continuous blast of liquid nitrogen. A shudder wrenched through his body as he became aware of the aching in his fingers and toes. Dib fought the urge to burrow back into his coat.

“I’ll make a scarf out of _your_ organs for this, Space-boy,” he muttered. The words hung frozen in front of him until he pushed through, on his way to save humanity one intestine at a time.


	3. Convenience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pointy-haired and the grouchy kids’ arrival every Friday was clockwork; fresh out of class they’d walk to the convenience store, ritualistically select and purchase snacks with their dad’s money, and presumably walk home to eat them. That’s why she’d been so surprised when one walked in ten minutes ago.
> 
> Well, one reason.

If Cory let herself look out the windows, she knew it would be dark, and if she looked at her phone she knew it’d say it was Sunday, but she couldn’t shake the feeling it was 3:15 on a Friday afternoon. And it was because of the kid in the snack aisle. The pointy-haired and the grouchy kids’ arrival every Friday was clockwork; fresh out of class they’d walk to the convenience store, ritualistically select and purchase snacks with their dad’s money, and presumably walk home to eat them. That’s why she’d been so surprised when one walked in ten minutes ago.

Well, one reason.

Right now, he was poking around by the freeze-dried animal rind section, the sharp bit of his hair bobbing around over the shelf. He’d be there for at least another minute before realizing he wasn’t quite that adventurous and going back to make his final chip selection. If it weren’t the graveyard shift, she’d make a bet with the other cashier that the kid would pick the sour cream and szechuan corn chips; they were a favorite of his and the last few times she’d checked him out he’d picked some other, equally nasty, flavors.

As she buzzed in her chip guess, Cory’s eyes wandered to the greasy windows at the front.

_No. Don’t look. Guess what kind of soda he’ll buy, prep the register for Bill, or check the time— just don’t look at the parking lot._

The consecutive _fwups_ of several bags of chips hitting the ground made drawing her attention back to the store easier.

A soft “Dang it,” was barely audible over the crinkling of bags being shoved back onto the racks.

Cory made a note to put the bags back in order after he left, despite all the practice he had the kid had yet to do a good job of re-stacking chips. She was surprised his tendency for accident hadn’t gotten elementary schoolers banned from the convenience store with how much of a control freak Bill, her manager and replacement in a few minutes, was. He presided over this place like it was the lobby of the Ritz and his mother was about to visit.

One time in particular came to mind. It was a Friday, 3:15, and the grumpy girl lead the way in. The boy followed a few seconds later, bruised and limping. This caught Bill’s attention as the last time he’d come in hurt he left a trail of blood that only through Bill’s “lighting cleaning reflexes” hadn’t been tracked through the store. Cory had been more worried about his health but hey, priorities.

Even though it was winter he made a beeline for the ice cream cooler, shoving them around and ruining the stacks to pry the last lime bar off the bottom. He pushed his glasses to the top of his head and slapped the popsicle over one eye. His shiver was exaggerated although only she and Bill were watching, Bill more _glowering_ than watching. The girl was busy checking out their Poop Cola fridge.

“Can we hurry today?” he said. “I need to get started on some anti-bee defense measures. I’m thinking some kind of gas propulsion.”

“You’re the one who always takes forever, _you_ hurry up.”

Her brother didn’t react, already perusing the chip aisle. He took his time as usual, that vacant smile on his face that seemed so out of place on someone who came in looking like a prize fighter every third week. She’d never seen someone take snack selection so seriously. She had a feeling this was one of the few things he had to look forward to.

After making their selections, the siblings dumped them on the counter for Cory to scan.

“Find everything okay?”

“Yep. Gaz, get the money out.”

“I’m working on it, shut up,” his sister said.

While she pawed around in her backpack for a bag Cory knew had “Snack Funds <3 Dad” printed on the front, the boy squinted at the security camera display with one eye, the other still covered by the dripping popsicle. There was no telling how long it had been vacuum sealed to the bottom of the cooler and its plastic wrap had sustained some damage in removal. Green syrup rolled down his face and hand.

A black hole of tension grew where Bill hovered behind her. “Hey, kid, you need to give that to her to scan. And watch the dripping.”

“There’s something on your security cameras, the ones at the back,” the boy said. “I’ve had suspicions about a trash-squatch living here and that could be it!”

“That’s great. Look, do you want a napkin or something?”

The boy squinted harder and leaned forward. “There! Look!”

Cory watched what happened next in slow motion.

The kid pointed with his popsicle hand, ripping the congealed syrup off his eyebrow and taking some hair with it. The plastic covering over the stick was slick with juice, making it that much easier to fly out of his hand at the end of his point. The popsicle arced through the air, over the counter and Bill to explode on the security camera system behind him. Chunks of lime ice splattered the screen and into the computer.  
It fizzled and blinked out before Bill could finish whipping the rag off his belt.

The girl was the first to break the silence. “Nice going, idiot.”

Then everyone was shouting, Bill at the kid, the kid denying any fault, and Cory reminding Bill the system had been on the fritz anyway, it really wasn’t that big a deal, don’t get mad at him. She managed to get through and convince him not to press charges against a couple of elementary schoolers buying snacks for the weekend. It had been a close call though.

“Excuse me? Ma’am?”

Cory blinked, picking herself off the counter. Her elbows were immediately replaced by a family-sized bag of sour cream and szechuan chips, a liter of Mountain Poo, and a package of those fruit gummies that explode in your mouth.

“Find everything okay?” she blurted, still pulling herself out of her daydream.

“Uh huh.” The kid was preoccupied with digging a wad of cash out of his jeans.

Cory focused on scanning the items. Now was her chance. He was right here; it wouldn’t be weird, and he _knew_ she’d seem him arrive. She just had to ask. Her eyes were drawn to the parking lot.

“I don’t need a bag. I’m not walking,” he said. As he did, he pulled himself up with a smirk.

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, okay.” 

Cory pushed the items to the center of the counter, taking the balled up bills he’d left there and picking out the right amount. He took the rest of the cash and scooped up his purchases.

_Ask him!_

“I’m gonna watch a movie tonight. Haven’t decided what one yet, but I figured no matter what I’d need some snacks for it. It’s a good thing I didn’t have to walk in the dark.”

“Here’s your change.”

 _Oh my God. He_ clearly _wants you to ask about it, just do it._

The kid made a move to take the change but nearly dropped his soda. Had he refused the bag just for the opportunity to mention he hadn’t walked here?

“You can keep it. Thank you!”

“Have a nice night.”

 _Ask him!_ Cory screamed at herself, _Ask him what that thing in the parking lot is!_

But as she finally worked up the nerve to open her mouth and say something not from the cashier training video, he was gone with a jingle of the doorbell.

“Hell.” And Bill was late to replace her. “ _Hell_.”

Cory slumped against the counter and stared into the parking lot. There, the kid tossed his purchases into the belly of what she could only guess was a NASAPlace experiment before crawling in himself. The turret thing on the back glowed red while the kid pressed buttons like one of those chimps trained to execute its own suicide mission. Cory flinched from a huge flash of light and by the time she was blinking spots out of her eyes he was gone, rattling windows, a scorched parking lot, and a bunch of poorly stacked chips the only indication he’d been there at all.

Cory relaxed the rest of the way onto the counter. She needed sleep.

She was jerked into a defensive stance when the door slammed open, shearing the little bell off and knocking over a stack of baskets. Bill, hair blown back and face covered in soot, stood in the door.

“Did you get a picture of that vehicle?”

“Bill, you’re—”

“Taking the initiative is the Squeezy Mart culture, Cory, I thought you were trying for assistant manager. Even if you knew I was calling the police you should always take identifying pictures of suspicious vehicles.”

“ _Bill_ , you—”

“Goddamn it, and now we have to get the parking lot crew out here to fix,” he waved at the obliterated paint lines in the lot, “ _that_. I’ve had a hard enough time trying to get the cameras fixed— they haven’t been fixed, right? They didn’t get any footage of that?”

“Uh, no, but—”

“Typical.” He sighed. “No one can do their damn job out here. Just stay vigilant for that thing in the future and tell me if you recognize the owner.”

“ _Bill_.”

“What?”

He’d finally made into the store to lean his weight against the ice cream cooler, his breaths coming out fast and shallow.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Huh? Oh.” Bill’s hand found the gash in his stomach, flinching away from the tattered remains of his blood-soaked uniform polo. “Yeah, that vehicle knifed me I think. It was when I was contacting the police.” Something dark red plopped out of the wound, splattering when it hit the linoleum. “Go grab a mop, would you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always love some good outsider perspective.


End file.
